


Love und Romance und Teenage Punks (yeah yeah yeah)

by Culumacilinte



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [3]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, F/F, First Meetings, Names, Teenage Dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Culumacilinte/pseuds/Culumacilinte
Summary: So maybe Neon’s had a couple dirty dreams about her, okay, which she deeply resents her subconscious for, cos couldn’t she be more original than that? Lusting after the girl probably half the school wants to bang. So predictable, it’s embarrassing.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yeahwehadatime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahwehadatime/gifts).



> Originally written from the prompt: Popular Kid/Nerd AU
> 
> Which, it isn’t exactly that, but I got as close as I could! And oh my god, having to come up with birth names for the Electro Girls? TOOK ME SO LONG.

So when _Glynis_ decks a girl in the corridor between classes, she just gets a telling off, apparently, cos everyone’s sure she didn’t mean it, or O'Leary really just deserved it, or something. When Neon (Dawn, according to her parents and the school register, but she can’t fucking stand _Dawn_ , like she’s supposed to be some wilting princess in lavender eyeshadow in a music video) punches a boy in the face (and he was asking for worse, and all, the way he was talking), she gets detention for a week. And where’s the bloody justice there?

Neon, awkwardly chubby and short and spotty with fluorescent hair and an attitude problem, is not the kind of student teachers dispense _favours_ towards. She’s smart, especially at maths, but all being in a few advanced-track courses has seemed to convince them of is that she ought to be better-adjusted in the rest of her life. Or something.

Just cos Glynis is tall and skinny and blonde– and it’s not even real blonde! Neon, with her currently pink-and-orange mullet, strongly believes that what the fuck is the point of dying your hair if you’re gonna dye it a _natural_ colour. (She’s well aware that plenty of the popstars she fancies aren’t real blondes either, but that’s beside the point). Anyway, she’s tall and skinny and blonde, and she was in a band one time with some older boys, and she’s got this whole cool, aloof thing going on that Neon couldn’t manage in a million years. And maybe Neon’s had a _couple_ dirty dreams about her, okay, which she deeply resents her subconscious for, cos couldn’t she be more original than that? Lusting after the girl probably half the school wants to bang. So _predictable_ , it’s embarrassing.

Anyway, she’s got detention cos she punched that boy, picking gum off the bottom of desks and scrubbing halfharted biro graffiti off loo walls and stuff. It’s not as bad as it could be, anyway; the teacher in charge just wanders past every once in a while to make sure she’s doing what she’s supposed to be doing, so Neon can have her headphones on and just space out to music while she gets all the menial shit done.

She’s got a Slits cassette in her walkman today, and she’s scrubbing along in rhythm to Palmolive on drums, mouthing the lyrics and bopping a little in place, too caught up to notice that someone’s come into the loo until she suddenly registers the pair of Doc Martens next to her on the stained tiles. She doesn’t jump, but she does flush, right up to her hairline, and snatches the thin wire frame of her headphones down around her neck, and glowers up at the owner of the Doc Martens. Of _course_ she’s got a pair of real Docs.

‘Oh, hey’, says Glynis, looking surprised, and Neon’s face twists around trying to decide what expression it wants; it settles, unsatisfyingly, on a sort of uncertain glower.

‘What? What’re you doing after school, anyway? _You_ don’t have detention, surely.’

‘Um.’ Glynis looks like she’s not sure what she’s done to merit Neon’s awkward animosity. ‘I just had some stuff to turn in. If that’s alright with you’, she adds rather tartly.

‘Fine’, Neon says shortly, stupidly annoyed at herself; they’ve hardly even had a real conversation outside of class before, and now she’s acting like _this_? Not that she cares if Glynis likes her, but it makes it _look_ like she cares, getting all pissy about nothing. She takes a step back from the cubicle door and gestures expansively, giving an ironic little half-bow. ‘Feel free to have a piss, don’t let me get in your way.’

Glynis’s face spasms around another incomprehensible expression, but she snorts a little laugh. 'I’ll– find somewhere else, that’s alright. I’m not busting for it or anything.’ And that seems to be that, like she’s gonna turn and head out, and then she pauses. 'Actually, I was gonna– that was well safe, you punching White Roland in the face like that. You seen the bruise you left him?’ She laughs properly at that, and Neon can’t help laughing too, a short little bark.

'Yeah!’

'I’d'a clocked him one myself if I’d been there; he’s a sexist dick, someone had to one'a these days.’

Neon grins fiercely, and rotates her right wrist, remembering how fucking satisfying it’d felt to nail him right in the nose; the bones and tendons crunch a little as she does. 'Well, maybe next time, yeah? You can queue up. Somehow I doubt he’ll learn; I’ll just be another _unreasonable woman_.’

'Ugh.’ They roll their eyes in unison, which gives Neon a thrill she tries to ignore, and Glynis scuffs the floor with one of those impressive boots. In the pause, The Slits issue tinnily from the headphones 'round Neon’s neck, and Glynis lights up a little when she registers it, jerking her chin at the square of Neon’s walkman in her trouser pocket.

'That The Slits?’

It transpires that not only does Glynis like The Slits, she’s also big into The Raincoats, LiLiPUT, X-Ray Spex, Shonen Knife– and Neon is trying _really hard_ now not to full-on smile. She’s not entirely sure why, except that it feels like it wouldn’t be cool to seem too keen, especially after starting off so surly. She’s not really used to _talking_ to people about the bands she loves, and Glynis doesn’t even seem put off when she slips and starts enthusing about the technical aspects of the music. (It’s the same thing that makes her good at maths, her parents have told her, the same part of the brain, inclines her towards musical theory. Neon doesn’t know if she trusts that; there’s plenty of people who make music who aren’t mathematical geniuses. Not that she’s a genius).

So maybe Glynis is alright, even if she is pretty and popular and was in a band one time. Neither of them really notices that they’ve been talking for like fifteen minutes until Miss Mahmoud sticks her head in, and gives Neon a narrow, exasperated look. 'Your detention is for _cleaning_ , Dawn, not socialising; that is rather the point of punishment.’

'Yes, Miss’, Neon grumbles sourly, and once the door shuts, wrinkles up her whole face at it, scrunching up her nose and grimacing and flipping the (presumably) retreating form of Miss Mahmoud twin birds. 'Ugh, _Dawn_.’ She shakes her shoulders like a cat fluffing itself up, like she could shiver the name off herself, and Glynis gives her a wry look.

'You don’t like your name either, huh?’

'It’s _not_ my name’, Neon says vehemently. 'It’s Neon. I hate Dawn, it’s all… trendy and girly.’

Glynis, when she turns to look up at her, is gazing at Neon with a thoughtful expression, one corner of her mouthing curling up with a peculiar, gentle intrigue. 'Neon. Well safe, I like it.’

And even though Neon has never _needed_ anyone’s approval, she thinks it’s alright that that makes her grin.


End file.
